


a demarcation of your soul

by magisterequitum



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 11:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/pseuds/magisterequitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He holds her like she might break, a lie to be sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a demarcation of your soul

He holds her like she might break and crack, like she's stained glass or porcelain, like she's something that will blow away if he presses to hard or breathes unnecessary breaths too hard against her. His hands are gentle curved things that cup her hips and bring her to his mouth. Soft and light when she knows too well the imprint they can leave on her skin, when she's felt his anger and had it bleed into her, had him drag her and move her as he pleases before. Not now though. 

She twists her lower body in his grip, trying to do something, whether it be to pull away because she's an overexposed nerve ending right now or to press closer, she's not sure. She only wants something. Time is inconsequentially, and naming or counting how long they've been here impossible. There's dirt and leaves beneath her body, trees above her when she can deign to lift heavy eyelids and look at the sky. Before he'd blocked everything out, above her and everywhere, caging her in as she clutched his shoulders and held him to her and moved against him with matching frenzy. 

Now he's slow. 

Agonizing slow and all she can do is sigh and slide one hand in his hair while the other skitters across leaves and grass and dirt. He presses his lips to her thighs, slick with the taste of her where he's already spread her open and dipped his tongue and fingers inside. An unknown path, tracing and spelling out a demarcation of her body that will be only his, theirs. 

She's aware of everything, minute and vast. The creak of her ribs and the rise of her breasts, breathing though she doesn't need to, the brush of his jaw against her belly, the whisper of the wind and the heartbeat of actual living things. 

He builds her up again, pulling her apart piece by piece, stretching her like molasses, playing her like an instrument's string. 

She lets him do it, encourages him with needy noises and limbs that wind around him, but she does not break.


End file.
